Page 29 of The Boxer’s Belle

“Off,” she repeated. Reluctantly, he pulled away long enough to untangle himself from the braces and yank the shirt over his head, then toss it away. His lips crashed back onto hers, grabbing her close.

Bella seemed to revel in the newly revealed flesh. Her silken fingers worked over his chest. There was nothing tentative in her touch—this was a woman who’d mapped a path across his skin with her eyes and was determined to chart it with her palms.

Each path she traced served as an implicit permission for his own. His worn hand caught her cheek and jaw and tilted her precisely as he wished. He allowed himself the luxury of tugging her ribbon free before running his fingers through her lustrous waves—finally recognizing the wraps still on his hands. He yanked them off without removing his lips from the hollow of her throat—a tiny bit saltier there.

“Miles,” she whined. The word, the tone shot straight to his cock—already too excited.

The sound that escaped him couldn’t have been called anything more masculine than a whimper.

“Miles,” she repeated, then stepped back. He ripped his hands away.

“Bella?”

Pupils blown wide and lips swollen with his attentions, she’d never been more stunning.

And then she tucked a singular finger into the waistband of his breeches. She took another step back, and another, tugging him after her—her steadfast hound on a leash.

After a third and fourth step, his mind finally understood her destination.

The empty stall where he kept a pallet for the nights he was too exhausted to return to the house—a relic from when the manor supported enough horses that he—and before him, his father—might need to be present for foaling. His feet moved of their own accord.

“Bella…” His warning was an empty one; he hadn’t so much as stumbled as he trailed after her.

She didn’t respond, merely backed up to the pallet and released her hold on his breeches.

He was going to put a stop to this, truly he was.

But then her inky lashes flicked down, and her long, elegant fingers found the little bow nestled just above her breasts. She pulled one end and then, catching his gaze, drew the other one down.

West watched, slack jawed, as, with one final tug on the remaining knot, the inner swells of her breasts were revealed—straight down to her sternum.

All the blood in his body rushed to pool in his prick. “Bella⁠—”

She shrugged one shoulder, and the flimsy fabric slipped off, exposing one perfect breast to his eager gaze. Air escaped him. It wasn’t fair—how beautiful she was. And the dusting of freckles that danced along that swell... He was finished.

“Miles,” she ordered and thrust her palm out, waiting for his. He obeyed—how could he do anything but? And then he died, just a little, when she brought his palm to cup her breast. “Touch me.”

Spell broken, his lips fell to hers just as her hand worked atop his—guiding him to please her.

The only thoughts his head could form centered entirely on the scent of Bella, the taste of her, the sensation of her nipple pebbled between his fingers.

When she slid her other shoulder free from the night rail and her breast met his chest, he swallowed her groan with his own. She let the flimsy fabric slide to pool in the fresh hay beneath them.

“Bella…” he breathed as he stepped back to admire her.

If she were any more beautiful, it would have hurt to look at her. As it was, West wasn’t certain he could ever stop.

He was staring like a slack-jawed fool, needed to say something, do something. But words perfect enough for that moment didn’t exist—certainly not in his head.

Her gaze shifted to one side, lips pursing and releasing. “Well?”

“Well, what?” he asked dully.

“You’re just…” standing there like a dolt. She shook her head, catching his gaze again. “If you’re not capable, I’m certain I can find other offers.”

He hid a smile beneath a growl. “I’ll show you capable.” His fingers slid down to span her waist, and he yanked her tight against him.

Nothing had ever felt more wonderful, more right, than her body slotted against his as his lips found her neck once more—tracing the trio of freckles there. They’d tempted him for far longer than he was willing to admit. And they tasted like the cool autumn air in the barn and her soft, spicy scent.